Bad News, Shit Happens, Die
by MissingMisserMisses
Summary: Kenny and Craig want to start a band; Craig's a bland asshole and Kenny may want to die sometimes. Life is in nobody's hands-bad news, shit happens, and you die.
1. Chapter 1

Life is lame.

In hindsight, I'm not really that down about it. It's kind of all right to not be able to die. I mean, I don't have to care about what I eat, how much I drink, how much I smoke. In times like these, I like lying in the middle of my room staring at the ceiling, and I hold the smoke in my lungs until I feel like my eyes could budge out of my face. I usually let it out though, wheezing as the black smoke puffs out clouds and wisps up towards the ceiling.

It's always around the corner, down the street or sitting on my roof. If death is a dude or something, I picture him as a reaper looking guy with sunglasses and a skateboard. His scythe has shitty hotrod flames on the blade and his robes look like my old ass parka, probably black on black and holes all over it. Yeah, grade A douche nozzle.

Like chasing the fucking dragon, he's there. Even now, probably poking at my heart and teasing me. Now, I don't want to die. Right now. I have shit to do still, but I don't like having the option for some reason _taken_ away from me. And I'm not immortal, like I age and shit but I can't just drop dead permanently. It's dumb.

Death at five in the afternoon on a Sunday would've be something. Not that it would hinder me in anyway, nothing to do. No word from anyone.

I mean, until my laptop pinged from under my bed. I rolled over and for a second I just laid there with my face buried in the old sheets. What if it was Cartman bitching about something? What if he would bitch about Kyle or Stan, or Wendy; or bitching about Stan bitching about football? Or even to bitch about Kyle bitching about Stan bitching about football and then bitch about Wendy?

Just a game of Tele-bitch that always ends at ole' Kenny McCormick.

I reached down and pulled it out, ha-ha. _Pulled it out_.

I got the laptop as a gift from Kyle one birthday years ago, sort of as a means of keeping me in conversation outside of hanging out due to me being a little below the poverty line. Comfortably, mind you.

My Skype app opened up and I was greeted with a single word message from a familiar face.

 _-Dick_

I grinned, it was good to see Craig as cheery as usual.

 _-u want? ;D_

 _-Fuck off. What r u doin_

 _-thinkin bout dying and shit. The good kind not like emo shit_

 _-u r an emo bitch. Call_

I scrolled over and clicked the camera button and the app starts the call. After a few rings, I see the sunny disposition of Craig Tucker come into view. He held what I am to believe were two furry moving dicks.

"Sup, asshole," I greeted, chuckling at the immediate middle finger pushed into my screen. "What, nothing to do either?"

Craig shrugged, eyeing his pets. "I scored some weed, hung out with Token and Clyde, and now I'm hiding away from society."

"You are the most depressing camgirl," I joked, "at least tell me one of those rats are about to be shoved in a tube."

"I'm going to shove you in a fucking box," Tucker glared into the camera, "Don't fetishize my gerbils, dipshit. You wonder why you're fucking banned from my place."

"Also because your dad's an asshole," I told him, met with another shrug. "Come on, Craig! When you gonna strip for me?"

"Why the hell would I do that?"

I grinned, "You show me yours, I'll show you mine?"

Craig rolled his eyes, getting up to place his gerbils back in their cage before returning back to his computer. "I-along with half the student body-has seen your dick, Ken. And if that's what you got to trade with, I'm afraid I'm closed for business."

I mock pouted, moving to lie on my stomach and crossing my arms under my chin. "You're a tease."

"A tease," Craig echoed, leaning back to stretch. He was built much like you'd expect us lazy smoking teens to be, meat where it mattered, muscle where it counted, and the skin complexion as well as attitude of the abrasive side of a sponge. However, Craig was taller and larger than me. I was pretty skinny and not as much hair as him.

"Craig, what do you think about _Cast_."

Craig eyed the screen, rolling it over in his head. "For like a name? Eh, it's alright."

Kenny sneered, rolling over onto his back and no longer facing the screen. "Fuck, man. We suck at coming up with this shit."

"I mean, we don't really need to name it anything special," he said as his eyes scanning the screen, they flashed with the loading of the music app. Scrolling over different songs before clicking one by random and hitting shuffle.

As the song began with a reverb effect, I reached under my bed again and pulled out an old shoebox and lifted the lid to snag my pipe. A sandwich bag of weed rolled up besides it, as well as a scratched up grinder. Its lid cover with a shitty skull and crossbones I drew with sharpie in freshmen year.

Craig rolled his eyes, pulling open his desk drawer and retrieving an e-cigarette. He only smoked them in his house to get away with it from his family, doesn't make it any less lame. I loaded a bowl I got another message on Skype, seeing it was from of all people at this time-Kyle Broflovski.

"Uh-oh," I chuckled.

"Is it the jew?" Craig mumbled probably sifting through guitar catalogs or lyrics.

"Ah, yes! The Jew," I snickered, holding the pipe in one and hand and answering the message with another. I was surprised Kyle talked to me so much; he and Stan had come out a few weeks prior to a classic Testaburger break up and had been extremely irritating. Not to me, I thought the whole thing was pretty cute. Irritating, was a word sprung up from word of mouth.

Anyway, he would usually come for advice. Not for the relationship overall, I'm no love guru, but for the nitty-gritty of it. I laughed to myself remembering the night he told me he wanted to go down on Stan and had no idea how to go about it.

"It's like 5:45, the fuck does he want now," Craig said, a majority of his attention absent.

"Says here, ' _Kenny. Help, he's coming'._ "

Craig reeled back, "Ew."

"Pfffft! Ha, no," I laughed, "I think he mean's Stan is going over. And they may or may not engage in some horizontal/vertical."

"Again-ew," Craig wrinkled his nose. "I don't want to picture those two fucking."

I grinned, replying to Kyle's message asking what he needed help with. "Kyle's red curls loose and sweaty, swinging with every thrust-"

"I swear to fuck," Craig warned.

"Stan's muscular football body tensing up-"

"McCormick," Craig was glaring into the camera, his stupid face tense and pointing a finger. "I will hang up, walk over and beat your ass."

" _Mmmph_! Is that a threat or a promise?"

And with that, our little call ended as a blip sounded returning me to the main screen. I lay back laughing at the ceiling; fucking Craig was such a prude sourpuss.

Whatever, we'd see each the next morning and everything would be fine while we worked on our band shit and tried not to kill everybody. I turned back to see Kyle's reply.

 _-I think hes rlly into us actually doin it and Idk what to say or do or if i rlly wanna helphelphelp!_

Fucking Kyle was such a baby, in like an innocent cute kind of way though I guess. I typed out that he should just go with the motions and do what feels right, to just touch Stan. Just fucking take that jock by the jock and see what they like. Vague enough to seem legitimate enough, and informative enough that he responds with a _'thank you'_ and _'ttyl'_.

Good, I thought. Finally brining my pipe to my lips. The week had wrapped up nicely, and that next Monday would kick off another one. Hopefully with Craig and I coming up with a name, getting more songs together, Kyle and Stan fucking on the reg, and Cartman shutting up.

I figured know my luck, probably not.


	2. The Unspeakable Hatchet

There was something extra punchable about Eric that day.

Maybe it was the audacity he always had when pissing me, or anyone off at any given moment. Maybe it was his voice, having grown a pitch deeper but still whiny enough to me to want to jam two number two pencils into my eardrums.

Been there, done that. Or maybe it was the fact that I hadn't caught any sleep the night before. I was hoping the weed would help, or maybe the music I had stored on the old laptop, but all in vain as I got to watch the sun rise and the icicles melt in front of my window.

Either way despite the teacher shutting him up two goddamn times, he still bothered to poke and jab at Butters in front of me, and then _joke with me_ afterwards. The fat, punchable dick.

Just as I made a third attempt to fall asleep as our teacher turned on a film about some history thing, I watched a balled up piece of paper fly past me from my right. I turn to flinch at whoever threw it raising a fist and see Tweek, holding up his hands terrified.

I mouthed asking what, to which he glanced nervously at the front of the class before reaching for his phone and showing me a text from none other than Craig.

Since I didn't have a phone, Craig used Tweek as his personal messenger boy. For example then, when Craig was out by the gym and wanted me to cut to see him. Which was no problem, the class sucked anyway.

I got up leaving my bag, smacking Cartman's pudgy hand away from Butters and whispering a quick knock it off, douche on my way past to the front desk.

"Hey, I gotta piss," I say on my way out, hearing some laughter and the teacher's voicing his distaste in my vernacular.

The hallway was empty and quiet once the door was shut. I glanced into each class I passed seeing if I could spot Kyle or Stan, since I didn't really keep track of the classes they had. They usually managed to stay together somehow while I got stuck with Cartman and Butters. Craig and I had only two classes together.

Fuck them and vernacular.

* * *

So I got a weird confession.

Well I guess not weird-this is me we're talking about after all, but weird as in who it involves and why if I were to really confront him about it things would in fact become weird.

So Craig. Craig is cool, awesome even. Bit of a dick, but a good dick. And I have the biggest hard-on for this dick. Guy. Craig. Also his dick potentially in the long run...If you couldn't already guess that.

I guess I should explain how it came to this. I tend to flirt with everybody, I'm a fan of riling up my buds because they're all so tight assed and I take up that responsibility to loosen them up a bit. Yet, Craig is different. I come onto him quite often, to little protest outside of me asking him to take his clothes off on our cam sessions.

And yet, I'm not even sure if he plays along for shits and giggles, or if every time I'd grope him or call him dear he was actually giving me hints.

The closest I've gotten to one was once at a show in North Park a few months back; a group of punk bands from Chicago came all the way over and Craig scored us tickets. We hitched a ride, got to the venue, and had to have some big asshole write big thick X's on the back of one of our hands.

I was thinking shit- this show's going to suck.

Craig however disagreed, and so did a shiny silver flask he flashed. So we start drinking in the back of this club as the bands go on, I don't remember the music so much, even though I have a CD I snagged from the merch booth, but a memory does stick out and come to mind is one we shared in one of the bathroom stalls.

I don't even know what led to it; being pressed into the wall covered in drawn dicks, Craig's hands pinned to either side of me, smashing his tongue against mine. I tasted the whiskey we drank and smelled the shitty cologne he got from Token he wore for a month. His body was pressed so hard into mine, the sounds he made.

It was _really_ hot.

And then we went home- kicked out during the second set- and talked all the way home like we didn't just Christian-fucked in a dirty restroom. It didn't even bother me so much at first, who hasn't made out with someone for kicks? Maybe he was letting off adrenaline I figured, but this was Craig, and not some random shmuck from obscurity.

And… I don't know. It felt different, I guess. And don't give me any looks about it, all right? I don't need any judgment for shit I don't even understand.

Anyways. Everything kind of shifted after that. Even in this moment, watching him fiddle with one of his ridiculous vaporizers' buttons and biting the inside of his cheek, I can't help but just watch him. It was almost addictive. I don't do anything but stand there smoking and staring at the guy.

He looks up and furrows his brow, smoke expelling out his nostrils like a dragon and making it really hard to settle my breathing. The smoke smelled like cherry, but the vapors weren't red. I mean, what's the even the point if it ain't red? That's like, candy rules at least.

"You look high as shit," he said, voice low.

I snap myself back to reality, shaking the overgrowth of ash at the end of my cig. "What? No. I'm thinking we should ditch altogether."

Craig nods, looking down the hall. "What do you wanna do?"

I shrugged. ' _I don't care as long as you come with me_ ' ran down my tongue and I spat it to my side, terrified. Craig busted out laughing, hunching over as stared wanting to kick his ass.

"Fuck off, I burnt my tongue!" I glared, crossing my arms. "I don't care, I just don't feel like dealing with anyone today."

"'Cept me," he said, breathing in more smoke.

I smiled, a little too genuine to be honest. "Yes. Except you, dear."

Craig nodded again, blowing out a cloud and leaning away from the wall. "Alright, let's get our shit and meet in the lot."

"Hm." I nod and turned to walk away.

"Don't get caught, you shit!" I heard him call after me. "I'm waiting ten minutes and then I'm ditching your ass."

I turned back, hands over my heat. "You hurt me, Craig. You really do."

He rolled his eyes, waving me off before walking off towards his class.

I silently hoped he wouldn't actually ditch me. What a weirdo I am, right?

* * *

"Do you think we'll ever get caught doing this?"

"No, they'd have to give a shit."

I laughed, laying against a log and coughing out smoke. We had originally planned on going to grab some food and head to Craig's house, but halfway through the idea we figure Officer Fuckwit'd report us. Small town means word gets around faster, and I didn't want anymore shit from Barbrady.

Anyway, instead of food we cut our losses and hung out at the pond. We were besides each other smoking staring at the pond; occasionally Craig would pick up a rock and toss into the water. A few times he made the same shit joke about breaking the ice and follow it by throwing another rock in.

Ha, ha. Die in a fire, Craig.

"Cartman was being an ass again," I told him.

I watched as he brought the joint to his lips, closing his eyes and breathing in the fumes. I couldn't help but smile for some reason, maybe I wanted to try and make him laugh and choke. Or maybe I like to stare at him. Weirdo.

"He's a shit," He breathed, "I'd like to beat him."

I smirked, "Pretty kinky threat, Tucker."

"You know what I mean, bitch." He growled.

"Oh, I love it when you give me cute names." I stuck my tongue out and snatched the joint from him. "I do too, but I don't know. It never really bothers me too much."

I took a hit as he watched me, cracking his knuckles before turning back to the pond. "Why do you hang out with him?"

"Childhood friend," I shrugged.

"Can't you just shake him?"

I sighed, "Look you can't shake Clyde, and nobody can get away from Cartman. He's like an undying plague on humanity."

Craig narrowed his eyes, giving me slight chills. "Clyde isn't a menace, he's chill and nice. Maybe too nice for his own good, but nice. Cartman's a dick, and I don't understand how you and your buds let his toxicity hang around."

I hated this part of him. It rarely comes out, but when it rears its ugly head it makes my stomach turn. It was this part beneath his cold stare and dickishness that he really did give a shit about me, and it took hold when it showed. Like a warm feeling would start in my chest and make me rethink shit. It was…sweet. Given the fact that Craig Tucker on any day of the year is about as sweet as diluted Diet Coke.

"You suck today." I told him before taking a drag and turning away to fight the heat in my face.

"You suck everyday," He replied, "and you're lousy at it."

"Take that back," I sat up, smirking. "Bet you can't out suck me."

"Is this an actual conversation we're having?" He asked, a stirring in my gut growing intense by the way he looked at me. "With that said, I could suck you under the table."

"You can-any day. Anytime."

I furrowed my brow while he turned to face me, shifting a leg beneath him. "Is that an invitation, McCormick?"

I feel my jaw twitch, and fight a glare at the pond. "S-Shut up."

"Ha," He pointed and leaned back against the log. "Fuck you, I win."

"You didn't win shit," I spat, "your consolation prize is to shut the fuck up."

Craig blew a raspberry at me and flipped me off and the gooey sweet Craig melted away. Good, shit gets hard to operate a conversation with when he's actually showing signs and affection.

I mean…I don't mind it. I actually really like it; it's just almost this scary thing that's foreign to me in everyway. Craig Tucker caring. The Craig I'm used to spits in my coke when I'm not looking, threatens to toss me in Starks Pond, and plays great guitar. The sweet one asks if I'm okay, hates the crooked company I keep, and talks me out of talking about dying and shit.

I'm not sure which Craig I'm comfortable with, but I'm one away from a fuck-marry-kill scenario.

"Come over tonight." He told me suddenly, without looking my way.

I blew out smoke and turned to him. "I thought I was banned from your abode, dear."

"Consider yourself unbanned." He said, "Just sneak over."

I wiggled my eyebrows. "What are going to do?"

"Who knows?" He said, crossing his arms. "My dad will be working late, maybe you could help me put a logo together and get settled on a name finally."

I rolled my eyes. "Tease."

Craig sighed, punching me in the shoulder. "I'll show you a fucking tease if you keep this up, McCormick."


	3. When Shit Happens

There's something weird about Craig's bedroom.

Or fuck it-there's a weird something about his whole fucking house, from just stepping in from the front door and being greeted with the warm aura of the home with the night time cold at my back. I passed Craig himself to stand in his living room, brown and beige from the furniture legs and carpeting crawling up the walls to the ceiling.

I kicked the snow from my boots. The walk from across the tracks to Craig's, past the park and the guys' homes was always rough at this time of year. Not like I wouldn't survive the frostbite or hypothermia-doesn't make it any less shitty shivering on Tucker's front porch like a homeless puppy. Like a...shit, what's that one tiny one chicks in California carry around in purses?

Anyway, I turned to see Craig dressed like a fucking child. Old pajama bottoms with Red Racer written all over, the shirt he was wearing earlier, and his hat he's had since we were kids. I always wondered if he shopped online for the same hat in a bigger size every year or if his head just never grew past age ten.

"Quit staring at my dick," He snatched my attention. "This isn't a fucking booty call."

I sigh. "You really disappoint me, Craig. I trudged through snow and sleet, snow in my eyelashes, and I can't see some dick for my troubles."

He rolled his eyes, arms uncrossing and walking past me. "Shut up and come on."

"Cum on what?" I snicked to myself, removing my old coat and throwing it over my shoulder as we ascended the stairs. I noticed on the wall up the stairs family photos and portraits with Craig, his sister Tricia, and his parents in various places. What's fucking spooky is that in every picture through the years, Craig's expression did not change once. And ever more fucked up is his sister had the exact same one!

"You sure are photogenic, Tucker," I joked meeting him at the top of the stairs and towards his bedroom.

Craig shrugged. "Pictures are dumb."

I smirked "Your sis feel the same way?"

"Tricia is dumb," He opened his door and stepped aside to let me in. "She takes selfies all the fucking time. Her and her dumb friends always talking about annoying shit across the hall."

I crashed down on his bed, greeted with the squeaking of the mattress as I closed my eyes and relaxed. "Yeah, don't know about all that. Karen's never home anymore-probably for the best, anyway."

He shut the door and locked it behind him, turning to his office chair to sit and face me. "Mm, right. She spends a lot of time with Red and shit, right? How are things at your place now anyway?"

I waved a hand haphazardly. "They're quiet- for now. I'm always expecting shouting and shit on the weekends, but as long as my parents are working or something they aren't trying to scare the shit out of that side of town."

Craig nodded, dropping his gaze to the carpet. "You miss your brother?"

I laid there silent, my chest falling in with me holding my breath. I never speak about my brother, really. Often times, it made what happened easier. Made it so there wasn't always this constant badgering from Butters, Stan, or Kyle. Kyle, christ. Followed me for weeks, checking up on me every day and night with Stan.

No, fuckhead. I'm not talking to you about it. And I don't think I will so drop it right now and move on.

"Where's your guitar?" I asked. I couldn't see his face, wondering if it glared or flinched when I declined the question. He got up and moved to the bed, kicking my leg out of the way like an asshole. "Ow!"

He reached underneath and pulled out his Gibson, glossy black and maple neck. He held it out to me. "It's bad enough you're here with my sister around, don't need her bitching about noise right now."

I sighed and took the axe, sitting in my lap. He returned to his desk and turned on his pc. I noodled the strings, playing the few scales I knew and somethings I just came up with on the spot. I'm no Hendrix or King, shit I'm barely good enough to replace a rhythm spot on any punk band nowadays. Craig though? Fuuuuuck.

He might as well have came out the clam writing Mozart. At some point during middle school, his dad bought him an acoustic and Craig suddenly just disappeared outside of school. Soon, whenever anyone saw him, he had it on his back. He would sleep over at Token's and have it, I think I even saw him just walking down the street with it. Fucking weirdo, yeah but shit man! Dude can tear it up.

Got something else he can tear up, if ya feel me…

Music started playing and soon I was just trying to play along with any song that'd come on while Craig sucked off the end of a e-cig, flavored strawberry because of course it was. We barely talked saved for the occasional offering up of names for our potential project. I say potential because we'd been kicking this band thing around for awhile.

Names would fall out of us like turds. And they would also hit the ground much like a turd in the bowl, before being mercilessly flushed away with a single _Naw..._ or glance. _Crossout,_ _Burnt, A-band-on_ which was mine, and _Shin Kick_. We might as well have just opened a fucking dictionary and started from A in search.

"I think we're trying too hard," He leaned back in his chair, blowing smoke up towards the ceiling. "Good bands just come up with this shit on the spot and roll with it."

I sat at the foot of his bed, guitar laying besides me. "Shit man, maybe we should have a really complicated name, one that's hard to pronounce or something."

"That's dumb." He said, "You're dumb."

" _You're_ fucking dumb," I spat.

"Turd," He challenged, smirking past the e-cig.

I sat up more, "Turd-burglar."

"You brush your teeth with dick."

"You juggle cock." I stuck out my tongue. " _Cock juggler_."

Craig snorted. "You sleep with a pillow between your legs."

I nodded, rubbing my chin. "You try on your sister's jeans cuz your's aren't tight enough."

"You coach your friends to fuck each other so you have jerk off material." Okay, I fucking chuckled at that because where's the lie? "Ha, I win."

I smirked, "Fine, your prize is to drop that pen of yours and suck my dick."

He stared at me, his gaze narrowing while smirking. "What's this obsession you have with me sucking your dick?"

I shrugged, the smallest part of my brain freaking out at this conversation even happening. "You have great giving-head eyes. Those eyes when narrowed just right gazing up while you work the shaft."

Craig was leaning so far back in his chair at this point, covering his mouth as he was losing his shit. "Yup. You got them eyes, girl. Shameless and dirty, seen-it-all eyes. Whore's eyes."

"Fuck off, Ken." He coughed, "Don't know where you get this shit."

"All in here, chode!" I poked at my temple, before dropping the hand to my impressive crotch. "And especially here. This is where I keep my genius, I've meaning to have you two become acquainted."

There was an odd look in his eyes. One hand gripped his armrest while the other tucked the e-cig into his pj pocket. The music behind him moving onto a obscure alternative track, sounding like it came straight outta some LA club. It quickly didn't matter.

Craig stood above me, staring down. Eyes slits with his hands at his sides. I could feel my confidence draining out of me like a red panda seeing its shadow for the first time. In one second, he was crouched down, arms crossed over my lap with my hand trapped beneath him. I thought my heart would fucking stop.

"What's wrong, McCormick?" I hissed, his smirk now a grin I've never seen.

As I felt my legs shaking, I fought for a laugh. "N-Nothing."

One arms snaked down to part my legs as to let him lean further in, him now leaning over my pelvis and laying his head over his crossed arms. The whole time he never lost eye contact. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I knew he felt me grow beneath him, him grinning from ear to ear.

"I see your genius is showing." He joked, his arms parting. Craig was fucking killing me. It was torture, this was practically a war crime. I could hear my body's geneva convention reporting red alerts as he laid a single hand down over my, uh, genius.

"C-Craig.." I barely managed to say, his fingers toying with me.

In swift motion, the hand grabbed at the hem of my pants and was pulling them down to the knees.

" **CRAIG!** "

Of all the fucking times for there to be an outside interruption before potential receiving of head, this was high treason levels of disrespectful.

Craig calmly stood up and walked over to his door, unlocking and opening a crack to see his younger sister. "Fuck you want, bitch?"

"Mom says you have the keys to the garage!" Tricia sounded pissed, sweating drops falling down my face still laying unmoving on her brother's bed with my pants down. My heart beating faster at the soft voices behind the door. Her fucking friends were here. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

"Boo-hoo," I heard Craig say. "Bad news, I don't. So do me a favor and fuck off, please. Thank you." His sister started yelling again as he shut the door and locked it again. Craig turned to face me with his natural expression, hands to his sides eyeing me.

He broke the silence with a head tilt. "Fuck you looking at?"

* * *

"And he fucking stops!" I slammed my hands on the lunch table, shaking the surrounding trays. Kyle listened attentively, Stan sitting beside him speechless. Besides us were the fatass himself and Butters, both half listening to the story.

"Why do you think he's acting this way?" Kyle asked, "Have you guys been...you know, in the past?"

I shook my head, crossing my arms and dropping my stare. "No." Of course I didn't tell Kyle everything. That time at the concert was weird, but I sometimes figured it was the heat of the moment out of weed and whisky. You know? It was the heat of the moment~!

"Strange." Kyle pondered, grabbing a fry from Stan's tray. "What happened after his sister left?"

"We continued talking about music and shit until his parents came home," I said. "Then I just hopped out the window and went home."

"Sexually frustrated?" Stan quipped.

"Sexually frustrated. Yes." I fist bumped him, "Thank you. How fucking dare he start the engine and leave it hanging. Energy wasted, I couldn't even jerk it after!"

Stan chuckled while Kyle shook his head. "Kenny, this is serious. Craig is inconsistent with his actions towards you." His tone was full with concern. "Isn't this bugging you at all?"

"Of course it fucking is, Kyle!" I groaned, putting my head down. "It was so...intimate."

"Alright, I'm out." Cartman spoke suddenly, picking up his tray and turning to leave. "Come on, Butters. It's getting too _Harvey Milk-y_ over here."

Butters watched the fat prick teen leave and turned back to us before getting up and leaving mouthing Sorry.

"Fuck you too, Cartman!" Stan snapped, before turning back to me. "Ignore him, Kenny. We got you."

"Thanks." I rolled my eyes.

"And I think you and Craig should really talk about this the next time you see him." Kyle added, "Better to get things clear now before you end up getting hurt."

"What's it matter anymore, Kyle? I'll just die and be back here tomorrow."

Kyle frowned, reaching out a hand to grab my arm. "Kenny please don't think like that." Beside him, Stan nodded, wrapping an arm around his Jew.

I couldn't help be smile a bit, my chest feeling heavy despite know my friends were there to help me carry it. I'll never be able to fully pay these two, and Butter to some length, for all the support they give to me.

Stan turned to the end of the table and nodded. I turned to greet dickhead himself, standing fraily besides him was Tweek Tweak, coffee fiend and Craig person walky talky.

"S-Sup, guys!" Tweek greeted, a nervous smile on his face sitting besides Kyle and Stan while Craig stood awkwardly.

"Tucker." Stan greeted mutually.

"Marsh, Jew." Craig said, before turning to me. " _Thundercunt_."

" _Cocksmoker_." I flicked my eyes up at him, greeted with a signature Craig Tucker branded middle finger and that same expression. From the second I was greeted with those damned eyes, it became very clear then that the image of the night before would be burned into my brain forever.

* * *

A/N Welcome back viewers to Edge Gay Theater. -MMM


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